


Hard Knocks

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-16
Updated: 2007-04-20
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:11:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8706439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: School of Hard Knocks Winchester Style





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Part of the Bobby!John 'verse. John age 33, Dean age 7, Sammy age 3

“Mr. Singer, about these boys…”

 

“Call me, Bobby. We went to school, Dave. No fancy degree of yours is gonna change that.”

 

“Bobby,” Dave said and smiled, reaching down to adjust his striped tie. “About these Winchester boys, Mrs. Wiebe came to me… she’s our first grade teacher. She’s concerned about the oldest one, Dean. He’s seven and never been to school and it’s already late October. She says the father’s shifty, but then I hear he’s staying out at your place.”

 

Bobby reached for two mugs out of the cabinet and walked over to the coffee pot. “John Winchester’s fallen on hard times, Dave. He’s raisin’ two boys all on his own and his business takes him a lot of different places. He ain’t shifty, and it’d do ya good to remember that seein’ as how he’s a good friend of mine.” Bobby finished stirring the two cups of coffee and handed one over to Dave. “This is part of the reason I’m glad ya stopped by. Been meaning to talk to someone about gettin’ the boys enrolled into the school here. But there’s gonna need to be a few…special stipulations with these boys.”

 

"Mrs. Wiebe saw the oldest in the market with his daddy," Dave said, taking the mug and sipping the too strong coffee. "She's the one who told me I should be looking you up. The boy's not... slow, is he?"

 

“Oh no, Dean’s anything but slow. That I can guarantee. They’ve been on the move quite a bit, which is why Dean’s not had any proper schoolin’. He’s got smarts though. John’s done what he can for an education. He knows his letters and a fair amount of spelling, basic math. His reading is what I’m concerned about. And the youngest boy, Sammy, he’s three and pretty sharp for his age.” Bobby leaned back against the counter and took a peek out into the backyard in case the Impala decided to pull in from town a bit earlier than it should. “I wanted to see about any type of pre-schooling.”

 

Bobby Singer was a confirmed bachelor and local eccentric, but could always be counted on. The Singer family has been in this town for as long as anyone could remember and this man was the only one left. There was the tragedy that no one talked about, but everyone knew. Another reason most of the women steered clear of him. Dave considered Bobby carefully, remembering the man’s statement about the boy’s father being a close friend. “These boys family, Bobby?”

 

Bobby’s gut twisted a bit and he forced himself to keep in control. “Closest thing I go to one. And if that ain’t enough to get you to see reason, I’ll just look into getting help elsewhere for them.” He knew it was a dirty blow. This town was very closely knit together and took a large amount of pride in its schooling system and faculty. To even hint at sending the boys over to the Eastmore private school showed how bound and determined he was.

 

"Now don't be getting like that..." Dave sighed. "Why do you think I'm over here personally and not a social worker? We protect our own, Bobby Singer, and you damn well know that. But what kind of principal would I be if I didn't check up on these boys? I know this John Winchester's been out at your place on and off for a few years now... and he shows up looking like he went three rounds with a hay baler and lost. People are talkin'."

 

“Talk’s the least of his worries. Man’s been doin’ side jobs since I met him. Travels around from place to place making ends meet so he can put clothes on his children’s backs and food in their bellies. These are the types of jobs most people don’t even wanna begin to think about they’re so damn hard. But he’s tryin, Dave. And if he’s gonna break his back and get busted up and bruised from doing jobs that most people won’t touch, then I’ll be damned if I don’t work just as hard to get his kids an education they deserve.” Bobby’s face had taken on a rather red tint to it. It scared him to think he was letting himself get this involved with John’s kids. “They deserve better than their old man.” 

 

Dave looked down at the table and tapped his fingers. "You were talking about special stipulations? I take it from what you're tellin' me is that we can expect the boys to be coming and going? What else?"

 

Bobby instantly gave an inner cry of triumph. If they’d managed to get this far it was pretty much a done deal at getting them in. “Well for starters, the oldest boy Dean, he ain’t use to being around other kids besides his little brother. So don’t have the school counsellors breathing down his neck about that. He’s a bit of a loner but if ya give him a bit of time I think he’ll warm up to the idea of the other kids. He also needs to be allowed to use the phone when he needs to. Their mom died in a house fire when they were both really young so he’s gonna want to call the pre-school and check on Sammy. I’m sure that’ll ease up as they both get into some kind of routine.” Bobby paused and cleared his throat before continuing on. “There’s also the part about Dean being a bit of a wise-ass.”

 

At that, Dave chuckled a bit. "I know how to handle a wiseass." But when Bobby just smirked, he wondered maybe if the boy was especially a big handful. "I'm sure we can handle him just fine. Truthfully, gettin' these boys into school would probably squash the worst of the rumours. I must say, giving them some sort of stability is a definitely a good idea. I'll talk to the staff myself, smooth things over. You expecting them to stick around for a few years?"

 

That sudden tightening in Bobby’s chest started again. “Gonna keep them around as long as I can, Dave. Those boys need a home and a taste of normal if they can get it.” *At least as normal as possible with what we all really do for a living.*

 

"You'd better talk to their daddy and get the oldest in on Monday," Dave said, as he finished the last of his coffee. "No point in putting it off. Every day counts." He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and slipped it across to Bobby. "Here's a list of school supplies, I thought you might need it. And Bobby... it's good to see you aren't alone out here. People worry."

 

Bobby took the sheet of offered paper and then shook Dave’s hand. “Thanks again. Mean’s a lot to me and it’ll mean a lot to their father. I’ll have Dean in first thing Monday morning.” He chose to pointedly ignore the last remark of Dave’s. It made him think too much about Maureen and that wasn’t allowed.

 

***

 

"I don't want to go to school!" Dean snapped sullenly and then he saw his dad's eyes narrow. "... sir. Who's gonna take care of Sammy?"

 

Bobby stood in the doorway of the boys’ designated room and watched John and Dean sitting on the raggedy old twin bed. “Well, I got that kinda squared away, too. You’ve been teachin’ your brother how to write his name and his letters. He’s already ahead of where he’s supposed to be. There’s a preschool set up near the school for tots. He’s gonna go there for a few hours a day, get use to being around other kids and do a bit more learning himself.”

 

“See?” John said, laying his hand on Dean’s shoulder only to have it shrugged off. “Dean, suck it up. I’ve kept you out of school long enough. If you wanna be able to go on the hunts you have to learn some stuff and it requires normal schooling on top of that. You’ll only be away from Sammy for part of the day.”

 

Sammy plucked his thumb from his mouth. “Dean, away?” He had been half dozing on the bed, leaning on Dean. “No!”

 

“See! Sammy doesn’t want me to go!” Dean tugged Sammy up into his lap, wrapping both arms around the chubby three year old. “He needs me here…with him. I’m not going to school. No matter what you say, I won’t go. No way.” Dean shook his head in vehemence to prove a point.

 

"Sammy'll go with Dean," Sammy chirped. He understood more than they thought, but always got frustrated when he couldn't express what he wanted to fully.

 

John shook his head and tickled Sammy under the chin. “Sammy has his own school to go to for now. Dean’s going to the big school.”

 

Sammy's brow scrunched together. Dean had always been with him. He couldn't remember a single day without his big brother. Sammy was used to getting what he wanted, so he just shook his head. "Daddy, no. Keepin' Dean."

 

John glanced up and over to Bobby and gave a small grin. “Why do I have a feeling this is gonna be harder than I first thought?”

 

Sammy watched his dad talking to Bobby. Sometimes it was easier to get stuff from him. He turned to him and said, "Uncle Bobby, make Dean stay?"

 

Bobby groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “There go the puppy dog eyes. I swear…” He started backing out the door a little at a time. “I have things to do…out in the, uhm…workshop.” And with that, Bobby fled the scene.

 

“Coward..." John muttered under his breath and shook his head. He looked back at the boys when Sammy had reached out to tug his sleeve. Sammy was looking at him with his serious face, forehead all scrunched up and lips slightly pouting. "Dean's stayin', Daddy."

 

This was so gonna be hard…on all of them…and John cursed himself for not having done this himself sooner. The boys were so close, almost a matched set if truth be told. Breaking them apart was not going to be easy, even if was only for part of the day. And it’s not like they were going to be in school all the time either. Reaching down, John scooped up Sammy from Dean’s lap and deposited him in his own. “You both are going to have to be big boys about this. Dean’s gonna go to the big school and you’re gonna go to the little school. Dean will always come back home. You’ll be able to see him after his classes.”

 

Dean looked ticked that his Dad had taken Sammy from his lap, but he held his tongue. "Dad... you could teach us at home... I saw that on TV. Some parents do it..."

 

John shook his head. “There’s more to learn at school than just what is in the books, Dean. I’ve kept the two of you away from just about everyone. It’s time you learn to interact with other people. If you’re gonna hunt with me you’re gonna need some people skills. Think of it as another exercise. Learn to watch the other kids. Make them your research. Know who goes where at what times and be able to read them like an open book when they’re talking to you.” John swept a hand over his oldest son’s hair. It was getting a bit long and that wouldn’t do for a first day of school. He had to take a breath to steady himself. Dean was beginning to look so much like his mother and to know that she wouldn’t be there to see their first day of school was heart wrenching. “I’ll expect a full report everyday. And if I’m not here, you’ll give it to Bobby.”

 

"Sooo..." Dean hesitated, his face a little uncertain and somewhat hopeful. "You're sayin' this is like my first mission as a hunter?"

 

“It’s what you’ve been training for, isn’t it? You always start small and work your way up. If you do good on this, we’ll step it up a notch. Ninety-five percent of the hunt is recon and research. You don’t get to do the other stuff until you have that down. So, yeah, first mission starts now…with this.” John waited and watched as Dean pondered it over in his head. “That also means learning to blend in. You’re gonna need to learn to bite your tongue and stay in line with the rest of them. I don’t want you mouthing off to the other kids. Remember, they don’t know what’s out there like we do. But I don’t want you bullied either. Someone messes with you, what do you do?”

 

Dean looked back at his father and looked completely innocent when he answered, “Throw holy water on them?”

 

John had to bury his face in Sammy’s hair to keep from laughing. Of course Dean was going on hunting instinct instead of natural instinct, but then that was a natural reaction with the life they lived. “They’re not possessed, I’m sure you’ve figured that out with all the watching you’ve done of them. Normal, human children. One of them steps up to you and threatens that he’s gonna kick your ass. Now what?”

 

“Da-aad,” Dean sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically. “I knew they’re not possessed! If someone’s gonna hurt me, then I hurt them back. Eye for an eye… just like you said.”

 

“Alright,” John said, raising an eyebrow. “I need to jump on Bobby for teaching you the meaning of sarcasm. I have a feeling I’m gonna be hearing it way more than I want to from here on out.” John rubbed a hand down Sammy’s back. The boy had been sitting quietly with his face turned into John’s chest during the conversation. He was sitting awfully still, which was really unusual. He was about the biggest bundle of energy John had ever seen in his life. “Sammy? You gonna be a big boy like Dean and go to your school and behave?”

 

“No,” Sammy mumbled with a sniff and rubbed his nose against John’s shirt. “Gonna run away.”

 

“Dean, go on out to the kitchen and see if we need anything from the store while we’re out. We have school shopping to do.” John kept his arms firmly around Sammy, his heart dropping down into his stomach at the words his youngest had spoken. There was the stubbornness rearing its head again.

 

Dean hesitated after he jumped off the bed. His father had used his tone that meant he didn’t want to be questioned, but then Sammy was threatening to run away. Dean bit his lip and tried to think through the problem like a hunter. Sammy was still a baby and wouldn’t really run away because he couldn’t reach the doorknob. He was just being Sammy. Dean gave his dad a pleading look that asked his dad to fix it.

 

With a very small nod, John sent Dean on out the door. The boy’s eyes had pretty much said it all. Dean didn’t fear much but where his brother was concerned all hell could break loose without a moment’s hesitation. Once the door clicked softly closed, John reached down and turned Sammy’s face up to look into his own. They’d done their best to protect him, but even a three year old Sammy seemed to look at him with much older eyes than he should be able to. He’d never really baby-talked Sammy before and he wasn’t about to start now. “Do you know how badly you’d hurt all of us if you up and ran away?”

 

"Gonna take Dean with me."

 

“Dean can only carry you so far. How are you gonna eat? Where are you gonna sleep?” _How are you gonna defend yourself from all the things that I kill in the dark?_

 

Sammy's face scrunched up as he tried to think of answer. "Gonna take lunch," Sammy said. "Dean'll pack it."

 

“Gonna need a really big sack for all the food you’re taking with you.” John suddenly got an idea. “Alright, so you’re gonna run away…with Dean. Alright then. Let’s see here.” John stood up and sat Sammy down on the edge of the bed. He rummaged through the closet and came out with the boy’s duffel bags. He stood with his hands on his hips a moment, for dramatics, and then started riffling through dresser drawers. “Need lots of clothes.” He shoved them into the bags. “It could be cold or hot or rainy. So you want carry a bit of everything. You’ll need blankets, too.” John turned and walked over to the bed, grabbing the afghan that sat across the bottom and stuffing it into the duffel as well. “Won’t be able to take any of this other stuff really.” John nodded to the small collection of toys and puzzle games. “It’s not really a necessity. What else do we need to pack?”

 

Sammy looked confused as he watched his dad starting to pack the duffle back. Then his bottom lip started to quiver and his eyes teared up. “Daddy?”

 

John stopped mid-stuff and turned his eyes to look at Sammy. “Yeah, kiddo?”

 

"Don't you love me, Daddy?" Sammy asked with a quivering voice.

 

John dropped the bag and walked over to the bed, lowering himself down so he was eye to eye with Sammy. “I’m your father. I’ll always love you, know matter what. But you’re the one who wants to run away. Don’t **you** love **me** , Sammy? Would you really just take Dean, leave me behind, and never come back?”

 

"I'll take you 'n' Uncle Bobby..." Sammy said quickly. Tears were rolling down his face and he was starting to get redder and redder.

 

John reached up and pulled Sammy off the bed, tucking him tightly against his chest. He started to rock, his hands smoothing over Sammy’s back as the boy sobbed. “Shhh, its okay, Sammy. I’ve got you and I’m not letting you go.” He wasn’t sure how long they sat there. Time pretty much slipped away of its own accord. When John finally looked up, Dean was standing in the doorway with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. His eldest looked away, shrugging a shoulder up to wipe along his cheek to hide his own tears. Clearing his throat, John lifted a hand and waved Dean into the room. “Think you can let Sammy know exactly how much fun it’ll be going to pre-school?” If anyone could convince Sammy of the separation it would be Dean. It hurt John to know that but at the same time it was nice to know that he always had backup.

 

Dean still didn’t like the idea of going to school and being separated from his brother, but his dad had said it was a mission. His first one as a hunter and Dean wanted to be a hunter. “Sammy… I know you like books. You’re always trying to make Dad, Uncle Bobby and me read to you… I bet they got lots of books there.”

 

“Green eggs 'n' ham?” Sammy sniffed back. “Sam I am?”

 

Dean grinned and brushed Sammy’s hair back from his face. “Yeppers, probably every Dr. Suess book you can think of. And they probably even got a fish tank or a hamster or something like that in the classroom. It’s like having a pet without all the extra work.”

 

Sammy sniffed again, still looking a little doubtful. He wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand. He sniffed and then pouted a little, “Might go if we get a puppy.”

 

“That’d be a miracle. Ya know dad won’t let us have one cuz then Bobby’d be the one having to take care of it when we’re on the road,” Dean said, the idea of a puppy turning over in his head. Dad would certainly put his foot down on that one.

 

"Daddy..." Sammy said and turned big brown eyes up at John. "Puppy? Friend when Dean's gone."

 

John’s mouth fell open for a second, trying to figure out how to get himself out of this one. His youngest son’s face was filled with a mixture of hope and sadness and John felt the pull to make it all better right then and there. He resisted it though. “Sammy, we can’t just go buying a puppy and bringing it back here. It’s like your brother said, this is Bobby’s home and we can’t be carrying the dog along with us when we’re on the road.” He watched Sammy’s face fall and he mentally cursed himself for what he said next. “Maybe something else though. We’ll have to see how you do at preschool first.”

 

Now Sammy took that as a bit of a challenge and got a stubborn set to his face. "M'not a baby. Dean goes, Sammy goes."

 

That brought on a set of smiles from both John and Dean. Looks like he was making progress with the kid. “Okay, so if you’re going and Dean’s going then **we** should get going to the store. You’re gonna need supplies for school and a few other things, too.” John stood up and stretched. “Dean, go ahead and get you and your brother washed up. I’m gonna go round up Bobby and then we’re heading into town.”

 

John new exactly where to look for Bobby. When ever the man was nervous, he worked on either one of the endless broken vehicles on his property or some experimental weapon for hunting. When John went out back, he found Bobby's legs sticking out from under the bottom of a rusted out Oldsmobile. John walked up quietly and kicked the side of the car with his boot. He smiled when he heard a satisfying thump, followed by a groan. "Serves you right for abandoning me like that, Singer."

 

Bobby’s grease covered hand reached out from underneath the car grabbing John by the pant leg to help pull himself out on the dolly. He grinned up at John. “Yeah well, staying in there would have caused me to cave in and offer up just about anything to get the boy to say yes to going to school. You know he followed me around all day on Friday talking about puppies? It took everything in me to tell him no when all I wanted to do was say yes and make him smile. I swear, he’s gonna be the death of me.” Bobby paused for a moment and watched as John scratched his face and turned away. “Uh oh, I know that look. You promised him something, too! The mighty John Winchester falls again for the puppy dog eyes. John zero, Sammy one billion and something.”

 

"Hey... hey... I offered him nothin'," John defended himself immediately, but then saw Bobby's doubtful look. "Well... I told him I’d think about it."

 

Bobby groaned and stood up, wiping his hands on his coveralls. “Just freakin’ perfect. Now he’ll harp on it ‘til he gets it…which you never said what **it** was, either.” Bobby poked John in the chest, already knowing full well that **it** was a puppy.

 

" **I** didn't promise nothin'," John repeated again and stood his ground as Bobby got into his personal space. "I even explained nice and rationally that we can't have one 'cause you'd have to take care of it when we're on the road."

 

“You can't rationalize with a three year old, Johnny. Especially **that** one." Bobby said and poked John in the chest again with his finger.

 

“You keep poking me with that finger of yours and you’re gonna find it broken,” came John’s reply, his face stern. “What happened to the whole ‘united front’ crap you gave me before? You took off first chance ya got! What was I suppose to do?” 

 

“My finger is the only thing that’s been pokin’ at you lately,” Bobby grumbled and poked him in the chest again. “United front? Who had to clean up after that Cheerio potty training incident? Not you.”

 

“Son of a….you’re never gonna let that one go. And you say Sammy’s bad about this kind of crap.” John threw his hands up and followed after Bobby, who was heading into the workshop now. “And you’re still running!”

 

“I’m not running away, I’m walkin’ away!” Bobby hollered back, slamming the door behind him so hard the wall rattled, but the garage door was wide open. “Can’t stand listening to none of your clap trap no more.”

 

“You ain’t even begun to hear it yet!” John said, making his way in. He reached up and grabbed the garage door, slamming it down in place and effectively locking them into the room together. 

 

"That's 'cause ya never shut up!" Bobby snapped. He pulled a wrench out of his pocked and slammed it on the work bench. "Worse than a goddamn woman."

 

John smirked and leaned against the workbench. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you. We all know that no woman would want you this late in the game. You certainly don’t exude sex appeal.”

 

"Good enough for your sorry ass," Bobby said. He had been looking at the tools hanging on the wall, but his gaze slipped to John, raking his body over.

 

Cocking an eyebrow, John jumped up onto the edge of the table. “Seem to remember a time when you chased this ass all over the house in the hopes of getting your hands on it. Which either means my ass ain’t so sorry or you have become one desperate man.”

 

"I never did no such chasin'," Bobby snorted with amusement. He stepped closer in between the space of John's legs, putting one greasy hand on John's thigh. "I seem to remember a time when there was a lot of heavy breathing and groaning coming from that cot in my room. And who passed out in who's bed?"

 

“Not my fault. I was plastered as hell.” John leaned back a bit. 

 

"That so?" Bobby's massaged John's thigh through the denim, grinding the grease in. "I might've been feeding you that home brew of mine. Seems to have that effect on people who can't hold their liquor..."

 

“Can’t hold…You son of a bitch! I drank you under the table many a night!” John reached out and pushed Bobby’s hand away. “Not to mention the fact that someone gets pretty damn lovey dovey after a few shots and a couple of beers.” 

 

Bobby huffed and put his hand exactly back where it was. "And you get moody."

 

“You get possessive.”

 

"You get horny."

 

John went to say something but stopped. His gaze slid over to the garage door. It was securely shut and locked as was the door Bobby had come through. He turned his attention to the door leading into the mudroom. When his curiosity was settled, he turned back to look at Bobby. With a less than sweet grin, he leaned forward and took Bobby’s ever present hat off his head. “You get vocal.” To prove a point, he rested his hand on Bobby’s shoulder and ran it up into the man’s hair at the nape of his neck giving it a rather sharp tug.

 

Bobby moaned so low, it was almost a growl. His own hands moved to John's waist digging into his sides. "You bite."

 

John’s breath just a whisper against Bobby’s ear, just a tease. “You always liked that,” and then teeth were biting down onto the soft flesh of an earlobe. “Still do.”

 

"You drive me crazy," Bobby hissed back. His hands moved up to frame John's face, roughly caressing the stubble. "You always fight me when I kiss you."

 

“Like you’d want it any other way. Soft’s for the weaker sex…unless there’s something I missed about you…”

 

"Shut up," Bobby growled. He pulled John's face closer, then smashed their lips together. Like always, John fought him at first, but Bobby forced his tongue past John's lips. John’s hands pressed against Bobby’s chest, trying to push him back even though when his teeth came down to trap the tongue between his lips. Two pairs of eyes stared back at each other and then John fisted a hand in Bobby’s shirt, bodily yanking him until they were chest to chest.

 

John's hair was just long enough for Bobby to fist his hand in and tilt John's head. He attacked John's mouth again, pressing his advantage. He wouldn't give this up until John had given in just enough that he needed this. That even the mighty John Winchester needed someone. 

 

All pretences of the fight started to fade and then John’s blunt nails were under the back of his shirt, clawing what would be deep dark furrowed lines into the Bobby’s skin. John was growling into the kiss now, trying to take some semblance of control back. Shifting on the bench, John managed to move them back a few inches and then he was off the table, moving them backwards. He didn’t stop until Bobby’s back was pressed into the tall metal toolbox.

 

“Johnny..." Bobby groaned between kisses. They were so close to falling off the fine edge they always danced on. That place between friendship, lust and what they wouldn't want to admit was love. Bobby let John dominate the kiss for a few moments, before gentling it. "John, we can't leave the boys alone too much longer."

 

School shopping, they were supposed to be going school shopping. “Christ on a crutch,” John moaned. He felt like he could hammer nails with his dick at this point and both boys were inside waiting on them. Bobby would need to shower first since he was still covered in oil and grease. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

 

"All in the line of duty, ol' man," Bobby said, running his hand over John's neck, trying to calm down the passion. "You know... I need to shower. You could put a movie in for the boys..."

 

John pulled back and away, pacing down the length of the garage and back again, willing himself back into control. After a few moments, he managed to look over at Bobby who had one eyebrow raised and an amused expression on his face. “Fuck it,” John launched himself at Bobby again, manoeuvring them to each have a thigh between their legs. John’s lips found the pulse point in Bobby’s neck with ease and he bit down, rough ragged panting that sounded a lot like ‘now’ and ‘quick’ reaching his ears.

 

Bobby felt John bite him and he loved it. "Fuckin' need a rabies shot," Bobby hissed as they ground against each other. It was always like this with John. Intense, hard and most always nasty. His fingers found their way under John's shirt and his fingernails raked down John's back, leaving red welts in their wake. They’d both be branded with a matching set by the time it was over with. Bobby could tell how close John was, just needing that extra little something to get them over the edge. His hands dropped lower and he grabbed John’s ass, lifting him up a bit more as he gave a strong thrust forward.

 

John thumped Bobby back against the tool box with the force of his thrusts. And just like that, John tensed up and came. Bobby was noisy as hell, letting go without having to worry about the boys hearing them. He cursed like a demon possessed whore.

 

John laid his head down on Bobby’s shoulder long enough to catch his breath. Bobby’s hands were still on his ass and it made him a little uneasy but he forced it away. All he could smell was Bobby, engine grease, and sweat. “Why is it that ninety percent of the time I’m coming in my jeans?”

 

“Red light, green light sex," Bobby laughed and smacked John on the ass. "Better than dealing with a little Winchester asking, 'Daddy, why are you hugging Uncle Bobby naked?'"

 

Groaning, John pulled back. “At least you can walk in the house without too much embarrassment. You’ve got your coveralls on.” John looked down at himself and grimaced. Bobby’s hands came down to start unbuttoning his shirt and he smacked them away. He looked up and grinned. “Know you’re hard up for it, Singer, but you can’t be ready for round two just yet.”

 

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Just stand still a minute.” Bobby pulled the flannel shirt and the tee shirt underneath. He undid a few of the buttons at the top and then wiped his hands along them, greasing them up a bit. “There we are. Now it looks like you’ve been helping me in the yard and the shirts are long enough to cover…” Bobby gestured down to John’s groin.

 

The door to the mudroom swung open and they both moved a bit farther apart before Dean emerged. “So, are we going or what?”

 

 

*******

 

“The list says what?” John asked in disbelief.

 

“Safety scissors,” Bobby repeated back, reading from the list.

 

“These?” John asked, holding up the blunt, gaudy plastic scissors. “I doubt they’d cut paper. Dean’s had his own pocket knife since he was five. It’d probably do a better job than this piece of crap.”

 

Bobby rolled his eyes and jabbed a finger at the paper. “It’s on the list, so that’s what he needs. Can’t have a bunch of young’uns runnin’ round with sharp scissors anyway. ‘Specially ones that don’t know how to handle them like Dean-o already does considering he’s already advanced up to throwing knives out of your arsenal.”

 

John got the sudden mental image of Dean running manically around some poor teacher, holding scissors. The boys were currently ogling the different boxes of Crayons a few feet away. Even though he looked like an angel, John knew better. He made a mental note to put the fear of God in the boy before he went to school. “He’s got good hand eye coordination for his age.”

 

There was a slight chuckle before Bobby could reply. “As well as foot in mouth syndrome.”

 

“Yeah… yeah…” John sighed. “I just have this nightmare that he’s gonna draw some horrific monster and the teacher will think…”

 

“That he’s got one heck of an imagination. Boys his age are all into the gross stuff. Don’t sweat it.” Bobby reached out and gave John’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “Just tell him to leave the blood out of it. That could cause problems.”

 

John shrugged away from Bobby’s hand, looking nervously around. No one was paying attention to them in the small store, but he was still guarded. “Not here, Bobby,” he hissed under his breath.

 

He pushed past John and walked down the aisle, his temper getting the better of him for the moment. It hadn’t been much of a touch and it irked him that John could only take it for its sexual connotations instead of comfort. “Yeah, whatever, man.”

 

John could tell that he had pissed Bobby off. He reached out and grabbed Bobby’s shoulder, hissing in his ear. “I’m not willing to take any changes, you understand me? I won’t risk what I…” He stopped when he realized he was in danger of admitting something he wasn’t ready to admit. His fingers tightened on Bobby’s shoulder and he shook him a bit. “You understand me?”

 

Bobby didn’t answer just shrugged off the hand and kept moving. Now was not the time, John had that right. But there’d be time later for this. They needed to get the stuff together for the boys. He caught Dean regarding him with a rather questioning expression and he forced a grin to his face. “You picked out a backpack yet, sport?”

 

"I don't want a backpack with baby stuff on it," Dean said. "I want an army one like dad has... with Winchester on it."

 

Bobby watched as Sammy’s hands tugged on a Ninja Turtle backpack. Everything right now seemed to be revolving around that damn cartoon for the kid. He reached out and snagged it off the rack, handing it to Sam and smiling as the boy wrapped his arms around it with a toothy grin. “There’s an army depot near here. I think we can find you one there, if your dad says its okay.”

 

"Can it have Winchester on it?" Dean asked. He was missing one of his front teeth and kept pushing his tongue through the space.

 

“Keep doing that and it won’t grow back,” Bobby teased, watching as Dean stopped. “I don’t see why we can’t get Winchester put on it. At least the other kids won’t mistake it for their own. Not that a lot of them would have an army style one anyway.”

 

"Right," Dead said. He looked back to see his dad, who was occupied with Sammy. Dean tugged on Bobby's shirt sleeve until he bent down a little. "Bobby... I know my dad's sorry."

 

“Sorry ‘bout what?” Bobby felt his stomach clench up on him. That was one of the big rules since this thing started, nothing in front of the boys. They were not to find out, not until John deemed it necessary…which would probably be never considering they didn’t even know what the hell they were doing or what they were to each other.

 

Dean's face was far too serious for a seven year old. "Sorry for being... him," Dean said quietly. "I don't want him to mess this up."

 

That caught Bobby’s attention fast enough. With a quick glance back at John, Bobby motioned for Dean to move around to the next aisle. Once they were safely out of earshot, Bobby dropped to one knee to look Dean in the eye. “Listen up, Dean, and listen good. It don’t matter what happens between me and your old man, you boys will always be welcome to come and see me. Always.”

 

Dean scuffed his sneaker on the tiled floor. "Yeah... I suppose, but... I know what goin' to school means. It means we're gonna be staying here more. Sometimes it gets hard going from place to place... and we've been coming back here. I don't wanna mess it up..."

 

“There ain’t nothin’ you can do to mess this up, Dean-o. I promise ya that. Now, what do ya say we get this finished, huh? That way we can get back to the house and get things settled in.” Bobby ruffled Dean’s hair, pretty unsure of what else to say. If John got it in his head that he wasn’t coming back to Bobby’s there wasn’t much else that he could do. He hoped like hell that day never came. It would be too much like losing his family all over again. And that was something he didn’t think he could go through twice in this lifetime.

 

Dean didn't say anything but smiled a little at Bobby. His cheeks were a bit red when he slipped his small hand in Bobby's large, calloused one. "I'd like that, Uncle Bobby."

 

There was a cough behind them both and they turned to find John watching them, Sammy perched on his dad’s hip half way to sleeping. Bobby felt his own face heat up for a second but Dean’s hand squeezed his, not letting go. If a seven year old could be strong in the face of John Winchester, then Bobby wasn’t backing down either. “You think we got everything they’re gonna need now, John?”

 

John looked a little sombre and looked around to see that no one was there. He moved closer and clapped his hand on Bobby's shoulder, echoing Bobby's earlier rejected touch. There was no hiding that John looked a little uncomfortable, but there was an unspoken message there. "Yeah, I think we got everything we need for now."


	2. Chapter 2

He never really understood why people needed to go to someone’s grave to grieve over them. Cemeteries held nothing but slabs of rock, flowers in different states of decay (even the plastic ones looked like they were dying half the time), and bodies that no longer held the soul of the person that they loved. Talking to corpses that were six feet under earth and grass just seemed downright crazy.

 

He’d thought that only until his own family had started dying off.

 

Richard had been the first. Bobby’d never really gotten along with his older brother at all, especially since he was the youngest boy. He’d only ever been a big brother because little Anna had come along. 

 

Anna had been the light of his life, always chasing after her big brothers. A pack of big burley boys was a gift to a family of hunters who had practised the cursed craft for generations. Death was a fierce reality and considered an honour. But there was no honour when Anna had fallen. Only sorrow. He still remembered his mother insisting on a lilac bush to mark her grave. Pretty like her baby girl. To this day, whenever Bobby smelt the sweet smell of lilacs in the spring, he thought of her.

 

Her grave was settled right next to Richard’s, lilac mixing with the sent of warm pine. Too many markers, too many graves of people he loved. Richard, Anna, Darren, his father, Thomas, his mother…Bobby tore his gaze away from that row, letting his eyes drift off to the left hand side where a Dogwood tree stood intertwined with ivy. Her body wasn’t there. It was buried on the other side of town in an actual cemetery but it served its purpose here…a reminder of every hunter’s worst fear.

 

Maureen. The pretty girl who had agreed to marry him in the white church his parents had said their vows in. His high school sweetheart who didn't care if her dress didn't hide the little bump on her belly. Sweet Maureen he had called her. A sweet, strong girl who didn't care what people whispered about marrying beneath herself or to one of the town freaks. A girl who died because he loved her.

 

He hadn’t allowed himself the luxury of feelings for a long time after her death. Most of what had been left of his family at that time had scattered to the four winds and then some. Bobby and his mother had stayed behind, using their home as a base to keep in contact as they all worked on the hunt. He’d gone a few hunts out of state but chose to stick closer to home, not wanting his mother to bear the burden of burying her children alone after their father died at the hands of something supernatural. Half the time they never even knew what killed them, only being contacted by the authorities when some form of identification was found.

 

And then his own mother had passed away, more of a broken heart than anything else.

 

"Dean sent me out here," John said as he approached. Even though he was capable of moving almost silently, he kept his footsteps heavy enough so that Bobby had known he was coming. "Said I had to apologize to you."

 

Bobby’s eyes never left the grave markers but he nodded his head. “You get that Winchester patch on that army pack a’his? He was workin’ himself up into a damn good huff and puff about getting it.”

 

"Nah," John shook his head. He pulled out a flask from his jacket pocket and held it out for Bobby. "Got some stencils from the hardware store and spray painted it on instead."

 

“Huh,” was the only reply that John got from Bobby other than him taking the flask for one good healthy pull from it before handing it back. Bobby was just standing there silently, lost in his own head and his own thoughts. They stood there like that for a bit, the sounds of birds in the background and a dry wind blowing listlessly before Bobby spoke again. “Dean’s worried that something’s gonna happen that’ll stop him from being able to come back here. He caught a bit of that…tiff we had at the store.”

 

"Tiff..." John sniffed and wrinkled his nose. "Yeah." He reached out and took the flask back, taking a deep swig. This was the kind of stuff he hated talking about. "Nice view."

 

“Sometimes.” He hadn’t been out here in awhile and it showed in the way the wildflowers had sprung up around the graveyard. It was pretty with a sense of nature’s usual haphazard course about it. “Look, Johnny…about today,”

 

"I think we got everything the boys need," John cut him off. His hand came up and settled on Bobby's shoulder and he felt a twinge of guilt. "I'm an asshole. Case closed."

 

“Guess it works out well for us then ‘cuz I’m a prick.”

 

John groaned and shook his head. "I'm not falling for that set up, Singer. Pricks and assholes?"

 

Any other time Bobby would have had a whole list of crude remarks and jokes to go along with it. The only thing John got this time was a shrug. “Gimme back that flask. I need another drink.”

 

“No, don't think so," John disagreed. He screwed the lid on the flask and slipped it back into his pocket. Moving up behind Bobby, he slipped his arm around the other man's waist and pulled him back. "I've been where you are now. It's not pretty."

 

Bobby’s eyes closed for a second and he tried hard to keep himself from saying something he’d regret. He knew damn well that John drank himself stupid and did even stupider shit when the memory of Mary got too much to bear. He’d hauled John out of jail not that long ago for fighting while the kids were tucked safely away with Pastor Jim for a week. Pretty damn bad drunk if he couldn’t go to Bobby’s to help with the pain. He bit his tongue though, not wanting to get into that kind of argument again.

 

John lashed out when he was in turn, but when the darkness trapped Bobby, he turned inwards. "Just tell me one thing you loved about her..."

 

“Bobby…Christ. Alright. I know you’ll harp me to death if I don’t.” John took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If this is what Bobby needed, fine. He let his mind slip back to the ‘before’ and felt his own stomach twist for a moment before he could go on. “When I was working at the garage, she almost always packed me lunch since we were trying to save up money. She used to put little notes in my lunchbox or write them on the corner of a napkin for me to find. Stupid lyrics from those songs that all women love or bits of poetry.”

 

Bobby managed a soft, sad chuckle. It was a glimpse of the man John had been. Part of who he was now, but locked away so tight that Bobby was never allowed to see it. When they where drunk, back when they first met, they had learned that they both shared the same loss. They had lost wives, but there was something he had never told John before. "She was eight months pregnant when they killed her."

 

There was a sudden intake of breath behind him and a muttered curse. “Fuck, Bobby.” John’s arms tightened around him for a second. “I…I don’t even know what to say.”

 

"Don't say anything," Bobby told him. "It was a boy... I named him Thomas after my dad..." Bobby stopped, his voice gravely. "They ripped the boy from her belly... it was meant to be a message for me.."

 

“Bobby, you don’t have to…”

 

"I need to." It was a clipped answer and he grasped John's hand tightly. "When I found her... came home from a hunt... I found her in our bed. They set it up like a farce. Maureen, her name was Maureen. I don't think I ever told you that." The tears where visibly running down Bobby's cheeks. "We had this house she loved outside of town, not much more than a shack, but she loved it. I found her lying in the bed and they had her holding the baby..."

 

Bobby knew John couldn't speak. How do you respond to a horror like that? How do you live through it? He remembered her vacant eyes and the blood soaked mattress. Most strangely of all, he remembered her left hand, blood smeared across the wedding ring and clutching the tiny beautiful boy. "He was so tiny, John..." Bobby’s voice was raw. "I wonder... I think they did it and left her like that... left her to bleed out holding the baby. I wonder if he even cried..." 

 

John moved around to stand in front of Bobby reaching up to cradle the man’s face in his hands. It was a very tender gesture and one that was very out of place for him. Bobby always knew how to fix him when he was hurting, so now it was his turn to give Bobby what he needed. “Come back to the house, Bobby. Ain’t no reason to stand out here and bleed yourself dry over something you can’t change, not when you got a family that needs you with them **now**.”

 

“Sometimes, when I look at your boys... I think about him," Bobby admitted. "About how I failed. How I never heard him cry... did hold him though... before we baptized and buried him with his mama."

 

“You did right by them both doing that,” John whispered. “No wonder…” he let his voice die out. “C’mon.” Tugging on Bobby’s hand, John looked up into a pair of pain filled eyes. “I’m taking you home. We’re gonna eat dinner, put the boys in bed, and lock all this away. If that means spilling all your guts out to me until the sun comes up tomorrow so be it.”

 

Bobby fell into step behind John reluctantly, with one last glance over his shoulder at the grove. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this… Should be able to take it.”

 

John bumped his shoulder up at against Bobby’s as they walked. “And sometimes you gotta let it go. Ain’t no shame in that.”

 

“Revenge didn’t make the pain go away,” Bobby said, knowing this was something he had never spoken to John about. It was another thing they shared in common, expect John hadn’t gotten his revenge. “Got those bastards real good, but it still didn’t bring Maureen or the baby back.”

 

“Don’t matter. They won’t be hurting anyone else like they hurt them. That’s the important part.” John watched as the house came into view. Dean was standing outside on the porch, watching their progress with Sammy sprawled out on his belly colouring in a book.

 

Bobby stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the boys. “I don’t think I can face them like this, John.”

 

Looking from Bobby and then back to his children, John tried to determine what would be best. He could go up and ask Dean to take Sammy inside but then Dean would know something was up. The kid never let anything go either. He’d demand to know if John had apologized and it would all go downhill from there. Scrubbing a hand over his face, John looked away. “Maybe you need to.”

 

There was a moment where neither man spoke and the silence between them was broken by the sound of distant arguing. John looked to see Dean trying to hold Sammy back by one arm, the younger boy pulling and yanking to get away from him. Sammy suddenly stamped one foot down over Dean’s, causing the oldest boy to let go with a cry, and then Sammy was launching himself off the front porch, yelling ‘daddy’ and ‘Uncle Bobby’ the whole way.

 

“Daddy! Uncle Bobby!” Sammy yelled at the tops of his lungs. “Dean said I gotta cut my hair. Don’t wanna!”

 

John stiffened, wondering what in the hell to do. Sammy had always been a force to be reckoned with. He watched as his youngest son closed the distance to them as he ran across the yard. And then suddenly, almost as if in slow motion, he was toppling forward, his eyes wide and mouth open in an ‘O’. He hit the ground with a loud thud and a surprised intake of breath.

 

He looked up at John and Bobby, shock written on his face. By himself or in front of Dean, he might’ve gotten back up and brushed it off. But now he had an audience and an aching knee. Almost comically, the sobs started first, followed quickly by tears and the loud wail of, "Daaaaaaddy! It HURTS!" 

 

John didn’t even get a chance to move before Bobby was scooping Sammy up in his arms and cradling him to his chest. “Easy there, Sammy-boy. Let’s go sit down on the steps and take a look at ya.” Bobby’s back was still rigid with tension from earlier but he was moving away, taking Sam back to the porch.

 

Sammy’s little hands fisted into Bobby’s flannel shirt. “Make it better?”

 

Bobby absently brushed a kiss against Sammy’s temple. “Yeah, Uncle Bobby’s gonna make it all better.” Dean was coming out of the house again, small med kit in his hand when they all reached the steps.

 

“Daddy always says I should be a big boy,” Sammy said with a shuddering sob and a bit off a glare at his father. “But it **HURTS** , Uncle Bobby!”

 

Shushing Sammy with nonsense words, Bobby pulled the boy’s pant leg up. There was a fair amount of scraping and a few drops of blood from one particular scratch but it looked pretty good. He ran his thumb over the drops of blood, wiping them off on the thigh of his own jeans. “Just a bit banged up. Dean, give me one of those antiseptic wipes so I can wipe it down good.”

 

Dean handed it to him and Bobby tore it open. When he wiped at the skin and blood, Sammy started to howl. Bobby leaned in closer and blew on it, to take the sting away. “We gotta do this, kiddo, so it doesn’t get infected.”

 

John stood off the side, watching every movement very carefully. He was trying hard to make sure that Bobby was alright but it was like the moment that Sammy had hurt himself, all that had been said at the gravesite had disappeared. He hadn’t thought he’d be able to face the boys, and yet here he was…big ol’ Bobby Singer playing nursemaid to a three year old with as much care as if it were his own son. The thought made John cringe inside. Bobby’d done a lot for all of them in the past and he was practically family. So why did that thought harbour such an ill feeling inside of him?

 

Dean could sense something was off and he wanted to make it better. But he had learned from his father, sometimes the best thing to do was ignore it. “We’re out of the Ninja Turtle bandaids,” Dean said to Bobby. “So I drew a happy face on a plain one.”

 

Bobby took the bandage from Dean, but he was watching Sammy’s face closely. “Well, check that out, Sam. You get your own personalized band aid compliments of Dean-o.” Bobby’s hands shook as he put it on and he reached back to scrub a hand over his face. He stood up quickly and backed away. “Let your daddy take a look at it now, okay? I’m gonna…gonna go in the house and take a shower before we eat.”

 

“No!” Sammy protested automatically and held out his arms. “Wanna hug!”

 

The overwhelming sense of panic streaked through Bobby and he had to catch his breath for a moment, not wanting anyone to see it. But then Sammy was bounding up and Bobby was scooping the kid into a bear hug with his face buried in soft shaggy hair. He fought the lump in his throat, squeezed maybe a fraction too tight, and then he was all but shoving Sammy into John’s arms and rushing past Dean into the house.

 

"Uncle Bobby?" Sammy cried out in confusion, reaching out for him from John's grasp. "Daddy? Daddy, what's wrong?"

 

John felt his own heart near to breaking between Bobby’s sudden panic and his youngest son’s pleading brown eyes that radiated confusion. He sighed and dropped a kiss on Sammy’s forehead. “He’s not feeling well right now, Sammy.”

 

Sammy's face scrunched up. "He's got a boo boo?"

 

“Yeah, he’s got a boo boo.” John turned to look at Dean, who stared at him with accusing eyes. “We’re fine, Dean. Relax. He’s just had a hard day. Think you can keep Sammy interested for a bit…outside?”

 

"Not yet," Sammy said, shaking his head. "Down! Daddy, down!" John set him down and Sammy ran to the first aid kit. He pulled out a band aid and fumbled with the wrapper until Dean opened it for him. Then Sammy used the marker and scribbled something on it. He clutched it in his chubby hand and ran into the house, stumbling a bit at the doorway. Tearing down the hall, he came to an abrupt halt in front of the bathroom and knocked on it. When Bobby opened the door, Sammy held up his prize for him. "It's a band aid, Uncle Bobby. For your boo boo..." He smiled a little uncertainly. "Gotta happy face like mine..."

 

Bobby leaned heavily in the doorway, face pale except for the splash of red high on his cheeks. He looked down at Sammy with bloodshot eyes and sucked in a deep breath. “For me?” He reached down and took the band aid from the boy, his finger rubbing over the very crooked smiley face with a sort of relevance. When he looked up, both John and Dean were standing at the end of the hall. Dean was trying hard to avert his gaze but kept sneaking little glances up through his lowered eyelashes. And John…John just stood there watching the both of them, his mouth set in a hard line.

 

Sammy nodded and pointed at his own band aid. "We match." He launched himself at Bobby, clinging to his leg, hugging him tightly. "Don't wanna see ya sad, Uncle Bobby."

 

Bobby’s hand strayed into Sammy’s hair, running his fingers through it. With a bit of uncertainty, he lowered himself down to Sammy’s level. “It’s been a long day, huh? I think I’ll be better if I lie down and take a little nap.” He paused for a minute and gave a small shadow of a smile. “You wanna keep me company? Maybe we can talk your daddy into cooking dinner while we’re napping?” Bobby’s gaze lifted to stare back at John for a moment, questioning him if it would be alright.

 

John nodded and watched as Bobby stood up, taking Sammy with him as he went. He settled Sammy onto one hip and watched as his youngest son poked at the band aid that Bobby had put on his forearm. "A nap'll make ya feel better," Sammy said confidently. "Then hot dogs."

 

“Hot dogs sound good to me. Maybe if we’re extra good we’ll get fries, too.”

 

Sammy reached up and patted Bobby on the head like a big dog. “Puppies like hot dogs. Know that, Uncle Bobby?”

 

With a huge theatrical gasp, Bobby started walking towards his bedroom. “They do? I didn’t know that.”

 

“Uh huh," Sammy nodded enthusiastically and yawned a bit. "And puppies make ya happy. Want you happy, Uncle Bobby, 'cause I love you!" And then he hugged Bobby again, rubbing his face against Bobby's flannel shirt. "You smell like daddy," he commented absently.

 

John had turn away from the sight to keep himself from laughing outright. He waited until the sound of the bedroom door closed before he slumped against the wall and chuckled. One, the kid was too damn observant and two, he had the memory of a steel trap. So much for finding a way out of getting a puppy. 

 

“Hey, dad?” Dean’s voice cut through his thoughts and he looked over at his eldest, watching as the worry lines deepened on Dean’s forehead. “Seriously, Uncle Bobby okay? I mean, he looked about ready to go mental out on the porch for a few minutes there.”

 

“We all have bad days, Dean,” John told him and clapped his oldest son on the shoulder. He was growing up so quickly that sometimes it scared John. “And this was one of Bobby’s bad days. He’ll cope.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes and snorted. “Or die from food poisoning. I can’t believe he asked you to cook. But I guess you can’t really mess up hot dogs, right?” Dean grinned smartly and jumped back a few steps to get away from the smack that John aimed for his head.

 

“Smart ass,” John growled affectionately, taking another swipe at Dean and bringing him into a headlock, where he promptly noogied him into submission. “Just for that, not only will I be cooking hot dogs, but there’ll be a side of baked beans…”

 

“Oh, but dad, they make Sammy fart!” Dean complained.

 

“Just punishment for your remark,” John laughed as he steered them both into the kitchen. “Make yourself useful and chop up some onions.” He grabbed the hot dogs out of the fridge and turned around to find Dean pulling one of the throwing knives out of the sheath around his ankle. “With a normal knife, son. That’s been to close to your stinky socks all day.”

 

"Ah, but daaad...." Dean whined.

 

"And Dean, leave those at home when you go to school."

 

There was a resigned sigh from next to him and John found himself biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing yet again. “Yes, sir,” came the dutiful reply.

 

"And no talk about guns either..." John added. Though Dean had known not to talk about the family business around strangers and was already learning to talk in code. "And I know you already know this, but know talk of ghosts or monsters..."

 

“Jeez, dad, I’m not that stupid ya know. Family business stays private. I got that. You’ve drilled me with that for years, Sammy, too.” Dean brought a hand up and wiped at the tears on his cheeks from cutting up the onion. He did a fake sniffle and turned to look at his father. Mouth twitching at the corner, he tried to keep himself from outright laughing at what he was going to say next. “If you loved us you’d get us a puppy.” The onion-induced tears fell with precision and had them both cracking up.

 

“Hush, you.” John picked up one of the hot dogs and shook it sternly at Dean, the damn thing wobbling back and forth. “With our luck, Sammy would manage to pick up a Black Dog puppy.”

 

“Could always be worse. I’d rather have a Black Dog then a Hellhound any day.” Dean pushed all the chopped onions into a little pile and reached to turn the sink on to wash his hands as John put the hot dogs into the over. “You really gonna get him one?” There was a hopeful note in Dean’s voice, betraying his own want of a puppy.

 

“Sammy’s been working on Bobby pretty hard,” John sighed. He had a cast iron frying pan on the stove and had cranked it up. Bobby had said a “nap” to Sammy, but John knew he wouldn’t sleep, but just needed a few minutes to collect himself. He spooned in a big blob of butter into the stove and arched his eyebrow when it immediately started to smoke and turn brown. He just shrugged his shoulders and threw the onions in. “Maybe a dog would be good company for Bobby when we’re away.”

 

“A good lesson in responsibility for Sammy, too,” Dean countered, wrinkling his nose. “Turn the heat down or you’ll burn them.”

 

John poked at the onions with the spoon, some already sticking to the pan. "I like mine well cooked." It wasn't right for a seven year old to be telling him how to cook.

 

“Yeah well, there’s a difference between cooked and burnt, dad.” Dean turned and pressed his palms into the counter before heaving himself up to sit on the edge. “I’ve watched too many cooks at too many diners do that and you’re gonna burn them. Bobby’ll never let you live it down either. Already told me you could burn water if you had half a mind to do it.”

 

"Now you listen, boy, I am perfectly capable of..." He stopped when the smoke started to billow alarming from the pan. He admitted Dean might be right, but now it was a matter of principle to not admit it. “You don’t have to turn it down… I just have to add more butter and stir it.” He glopped more butter into the pan and it sizzled, sputtering over the sides.

 

Dean groaned. “Great! Now you’ve done it! You catch Bobby’s kitchen on fire and he’ll…OUCH!” Dean shrank away, flicking a burnt and sizzling onion off of his forearm. “They’re like possessed Mexican jumping beans! Turn it off!”

 

John grabbed for the pan and went around Dean, dumping it into the sink and turning the water on full blast. It popped and sizzled, more smoke filling the room and just as quickly the smoke alarm started to go off.

 

Just then Bobby’s voice boomed into the kitchen. “Goddamn it, John Winchester. Are you trying to burn my house down?” He had Sammy perched on his hip and even the three year old was shaking his head. “How could you screw up hot dogs?”

 

John grabbed a dish towel and started cleaning up the splatters from the stove top, switching off the burner while he did so. “I didn’t screw up the hot dogs!” With a flourish of movement he pulled open the over door. “They’re right there and they’re fine, thank you oh so very much!”

 

“He just screwed up cooking the onions,” came Dean’s giggle, as he swung his feet tapping a rhythm out on the cabinets beneath him. 

 

“You could burn water if you had half a mind to do it…” Bobby muttered and Dean started to giggle when he said it. “And you certainly have half a mind! Though maybe less after this…”

 

John’s mouth opened and then closed, his eyes going to slits and suddenly Bobby could only see a checkered pattern in front of him and smell burnt butter. Sammy reached out and pulled the dishcloth off of Bobby’s face and looked into Bobby’s eyes. “Daddy’s cranky. I think he needs a puppy.”

 

 

**********

 

John wasn’t sure what he was expecting the first day of school. Probably Sammy and Dean putting up a big stink, but they had been pretty well behaved, even if they complained about getting up that early. Dean had been a little more at ease once he inspected the pre-school and interrogated the teacher. John had frisked Dean that morning to make sure all weapons had been left at home and even searched his backpack. The boy had been all smiles and charm when he met his teacher. It was kind of spooky how he already had her wrapped around his little finger.

 

“How was your first day of school, kiddo?” John asked as Dean climbed into the back seat of the Impala. “No notes from the teacher?”

 

“No, sir,” Dean reported. “Though I got three girlfriends.” 

 

John chuckled as he watched Dean in the rearview mirror, pulling out a pair of cheap black sunglasses and slipping them on his face. “Well that was fast work. I figured you’d have been running around pulling their pigtails for at least a month.”

 

Dean flashed an almost toothy grin at his dad. The effect was kind of lost with the gap from his missing front tooth. "They always go for the bad boys, dad!"

 

John rolled his eyes and started up the car. “Yeah, well, you remember that you’re to behave yourself.” John checked his side mirror and then pulled out onto the road. “Did you end up making a call to the school to check on Sammy?” Dean had been given permission to make two calls a day to the pre-school Sammy was attending. John hoped like hell that it would eventually dissipate altogether. Even though he himself had made three calls today to make sure his youngest was adjusting okay to the new surroundings.

 

"Nah, I didn't need to," Dean said and shook his head. "I snuck over there at recess to see if he was okay. And don't worry, they didn't notice I was gone."

 

“Dean, you do not leave the grounds unless Bobby or I is there to get you. No exceptions, you hear me? Last thing we need is to draw more attention to ourselves than necessary. You may not have gotten caught this time but there’s always the chance that you could be, understand?” John turned down the next road the pre-school came into view. He glanced back in the mirror to find Dean sitting up straight, practically bouncing in his seat. “Dean! Did you hear me?”

 

"But, sir, it was just a little recon…” Dean protested. “It’s a small town and I just slipped away after lunch. I **HAD** to make sure Sammy was okay.”

 

John turned his signal on and pulled into one of the empty parking spots, watching as some of the other family members of the other children walked up to the entrance to retrieve them. “That’s why we arranged for phone calls. You keep your butt on the school grounds. Is that clear?”

 

Normally, Dean would have agreed with his father. He knew a good son and soldier didn't question orders, even when he didn't agree with them. But this was about Sammy. And when it came to his baby brother, Dean was hardly ever rational or aware of his own self-protection. "But what if he needs me?"

 

John shut off the car, climbing out into the afternoon sunlight. He should have been better prepared for this part of the school thing, but he wasn’t. He figured that Dean would have been happy enough to call and check on Sammy. No such luck. He flipped the seat up so Dean could climb out. “If something happens, I’ll be right there to pull you out of the school. I promise. But you have got to stay there. No more sneaking off the grounds. I mean it.” A couple of the parents were exiting the building now with their children in tow. Checking the street, John gave Dean’s shoulder a nudge. “C’mon, your brother’s probably chomping at the bit to see you. Let’s go get him.”

 

“Yeah, okay..." Dean said and followed his father. "Oh, and I forgot to tell you. My teacher wants to see you."

 

John sighed internally and stopped at the steps that led into the building. “For what?”

 

"I don't know," Dean mumbled a little. There was a reason he had put off telling his dad. "Might have something to do with me being dumb."

 

“You are **not** dumb, Dean.” The door opened and a young lady walked out with her little girl, the sound of laughter following out behind her. “I’ll call her when we get back to the house. Let’s go.” He took a hold of Dean’s shoulder and steered him into the building.

 

They came up to the building decorated with a mixture of gaudy primary colours and crayon art that looked like scribbles to Dean. The truth was he had been distracted all day, thinking about if his brother was okay... if he needed him. When they came inside, there was a quick Sammy-sized streak that bolted towards them screaming, "Dean-Daddy-Dean-Daddy-Deeeeeean!"

 

Dean was practically knocked to the floor when his little brother ran smack dab into his legs, arms wrapping tight around him. He reached out and grabbed his dad’s arms to keep from losing his balance. “Sheesh, Sammy, you’d think I’d been gone for a month not a few hours.” Even through the teasing Dean had a huge grin on his face, his hand going down to rumple Sammy’s hair with affection.

 

“Dean, Dean…” Sammy said, literally bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. “Dean, they have a hamster! Its name is Fred and I coloured today. And then we all read a book and then I played with some trucks. They gots play dough and some kid ate some. And they have a hamster named Fred…”

 

John tried to stop himself from laughing. “Hey kiddo, don’t I even get a hello?”

 

“Hi, daddy!” Sammy greeted enthusiastically. “They have a hamster named Fred! He’s furry, but not as good as a puppy. I made a werewolf outta play dough! He was blue!”

 

John shook his head trying to take all the info in since Sammy’s was going a mile a minute. ‘Werewolf’ seemed to lodge in his brain and he reached down to scoop up his son. “Slow down, Sammy. Slow down. Let’s get your things and then we can talk about it in the car on the ride back. Bobby’s waiting back at the house for us as it is…with a surprise for the both of you, too.”

 

"Is it a furry surprise?" Sammy asked immediately. "Can I name it Fred?"

 

Dean looked up incredulously at his dad. “You didn’t tell **me** there was a surprise! How come I had to wait and find out when Sammy did?”

 

“It's not a puppy," John sighed and smiled. He bunched Sammy into his arms and started walking towards the door. "But Uncle Bobby made it. He worked very hard...so I want you to thank him."

 

Sammy gave a theatrical sigh. “Okay, daddy. Wouldn’t have had ta work s’hard if he’d just bought a puppy though.”

 

Sammy kept chatting in the back seat all the way back to Bobby’s place. He wouldn’t stop talking and Dean seemed happy enough to just listen and occasionally ask a question. John perked up when he heard Dean as, “No one gave you trouble, did they?”

 

“Nuh uh. But Miss Janey said she wanted to put braids in my hair.” Sammy’s face scrunched up. “Braids are for *girls*, Dean. Why’d she say that?”

 

"'Cause you have girl’s hair," Dean said and tugged on Sammy's locks. Then he ran his hand over his own closely buzzed head. "I told ya you should let dad cut it like mine... jus' like a Marine."

 

Sammy stuck out his tongue and shrank farther down into his booster seat. “Makes ya look like Caleb.”

 

"Na uh," Dean denied, knowing Sammy didn't like the man. "Makes me look like a Marine... a real soldier. You can't have sissy hair if you're a soldier, Sammy."

 

“Romans had long hair! They were soldiers! I seen it in dad’s book!” Sammy’s face was turning red as he got angrier. “Tell him, daddy! Tell Dean to stop teasin’ me ‘bout my hair!”

 

"Sammy... you can't come running to me every time Dean teases you," John sighed in exasperation. The truth was that Sammy would give into the pressure from his brother and cut his hair. The last time he had tried to get it cut, the little brat had thrown the mother of all temper tantrums. He had held his breath until he’d passed out, but not before he struggled so much John had accidentally stabbed himself in the thigh with the scissors. "You're a big boy now and big boys have short hair."

 

“Uncle Bobby’s gotsa a ponytail! I don’t want short hair, daddy.” Sam turned his head away to look out the window, his lips pouting into a cupid’s bow.

 

"Unlce Bobby has a mullet, Sammy," John said and shook his head, but he knew exactly what his son was referring to. "He doesn't wear it in a ponytail... he wears it pulled back sometimes when he's working on the cars to keep it out of his face."

 

“Still long!” came the grumbled reply from the backseat. “Not cuttin’ my hair. No way, Jose.”

 

"Samuel Winchester, you better show me some respect very quickly, young man," John warned and tried to keep the amusement from his voice, especially when he pictured Sammy with a baby mullet.

 

Sammy had leaned his forehead against the glass when John glanced into the rearview mirror. His cheeks were red from arguing as well as getting reprimanded. Dean was staring at the back of his brother’s head, a small frown on his face. He never liked it when Sam got in trouble, even if he did deserve it. 

 

"It's just hair, Sammy," John told him as they pulled into the yard. If he didn't nip this in the bud, it would explode into a rip roaring Sammy snit which they didn't need. He wouldn't spoil Bobby's surprise like that.

 

“It’s my hair. Don’t want to have it looong long. Just like it is.” Sammy swivelled around and let Dean help him start go get his booster seat unbuckled. “S’only hair, daddy.”

 

"We'll talk about this later," John said and didn't manage to hide his grin. Sammy was a pure joy... a pure aggravating, pain in the ass joy. His stubbornness was a damn Winchester trait. They got out of the car and John noticed that Sammy was still pouting. Wouldn’t last for too long though, or so he hoped. 

 

“Why the long face, Sammy-sam?” Bobby asked as he stepped out the front door. The kid took off like a bat out of hell, running straight into Bobby’s arms. John got an odd questioning look from the older man and he shook his head at him. With a shrug of shoulders, Bobby started into the house with Dean right behind him asking a barrage of questions before he could even dump his backpack by the door with his shoes.

 

"Uncle Bobby, Dad says you've got a secret for us, but I figure it can't be all that big of a secret if he knows about it, right?" Dean asked and before Bobby could answer, he continued on with his seven year old logic. "So, if it's not a secret, then you can tell us, right? I know it's not a puppy. Is it a new weapon? Did you make something to trap a monster? Can we use gophers as bait? I can go get my BB gun..."

 

Bobby’s hand clamped over Dean’s mouth and pulled the boy back against him, glaring at John. “Whadya do? Feed him straight sugar and Mountain Dew on the drive home?” Sammy giggled and reached down from his perch on Bobby’s hip to pluck Dean on the ear. 

 

Before John could answer, Sammy startled babbling, "They got a hamster named Fred at school. Dean has three girlfriends. He snuck out of school to see me. He thinks I don't know, but I know."

 

Bobby looked from Dean to Sammy, unsure of what to do. He started to lift his hand away from Dean’s mouth but he only started to speak again so Bobby clamped it back in place…and Sammy kept going. Casting a look of horror in John’s direction, Bobby tried to speak over Sam’s ramblings. “Make ‘em stop, Johnny. I think my ears are bleedin’. It was quiet all day and now…this.”

 

"Boys, if you keep quiet, Bobby'll make you chocolate chip cookies after," John said with a malicious grin. When Bobby glared at him, he said, "What, it worked?" He motioned at Sammy who had clamped his little hand over his mouth.

 

“Like they need more sugar,” Bobby answered, shaking his head. Carefully, he lifted his hand from Dean’s mouth. When the boy stayed silent he breathed a sigh of relief. Setting Sammy down next, he nodded toward the bedroom. “Go on in and have a look. Your dad already ruined it by saying somethin’ to ya about it.”

 

"Dad only said it wasn't a puppy," Dean said as Sammy took his hand and started to tug him down the hall.

 

"Dean, c'mon!" Sammy whined and used both hands to pull on Dean's arm. "C'mon."

 

"I'm comin'... I’m comin’, keep your pants on," Dean huffed.

 

"I wanna see the not-a-puppy now, Dean!"

 

John watched as the boys headed down the hall to the room. Once Sammy’s squeals reached dog-whistle levels, he leaned over and bumped his shoulder with Bobby’s. “Ten to one says they start fighting over the top bunk in under five minutes.”

 

“What’s the winner get?”

 

John leaned in real close, looking like he was going to say something lewd. "Sleep. Loser has to get up and pick up whoever falls off the top bunk."

 

Bobby weighed his options, listening for a second as Sammy continued to squeal and freak out over the set of bunkbeds. “Deal, five minutes if they ain’t fighting over that top bunk then you’re the one on pick up duty tonight.” Bobby glanced down at his watch. “Starting….now.”

 

And exactly thirty seconds later, they started fighting, but not exactly how Bobby had predicted. "Daddy! Uncle Bobby!" Sammy screamed. "Dean says he's gonna tie me to the top bunk!"

 

Bobby groaned and ran a hand over his eyes but not before catching the smirk on John’s face. “You have evil brats, Winchester.” He started for the door, watching as Sammy and Dean stood glaring at each other in the centre of the room. “Damn thing hasn’t even been up and done for more than an hour…you two barely been in here for more than five minutes with the damn thing and you’re fighting over it already?”

 

"He wants to tie me to the top!" Sammy accused, pointing a finger at Dean.

 

"That'll keep you from falling out," Dean said and rolled his eyes. "You're too young to be up there, so I have to protect you."

 

John moved farther into the room. “Wait a second…you mean you’re just **letting** Sammy have the top bunk?” John felt his face heat up when Bobby gave a cough behind him. Yeah, so he was instigating a bit. Like hell if he was gonna look like an idiot for not knowing his own kids in front of Bobby…at least this time anyway. 

 

"Well, yeah, dad," Dean said patiently. "He wants to sleep up there."

 

John stood there, mouth opening and closing like a guppy until Bobby spoke up. “That’s real sensible of ya, Dean-o. Saves a lot of energy over fightin’ out who’s sleepin’ where.”

 

Dean nodded solemnly at Bobby. "And it could save Sammy's life. Something comes to get us it'll have to go through me to get him."

 

Whatever bet they’d had going before, John let die as those words sunk into his brain. Dean did anything and everything to keep Sam safe, no matter what it cost himself. He couldn’t stop the small amount of pride that swelled in him over that thought. So he’d lost the bet, big deal. Dean was only doing what he thought best for his brother. He’d given up the top bunk, as well as left school grounds to make sure everything was okay. John made a mental note to go over that one again with Dean before the night was out. As well as making a call to the teacher who wanted to speak with him.

 

"No tying your brother to the bed," John said gruffly. He laid his hand on Dean's shoulder and patted it proudly. The boys had been sharing a bed since Sammy had started walking. He was really too young to be sleeping on the top bunk, but there was no room for another bed in the small room. He walked over and hoisted Sammy up to the top bunk bed. "You sure you want to sleep up here, Sammy?"

 

“Yeah! Its way high up! Put stars on the ceiling, Uncle Bobby?” Sammy was bouncing around, the bed creaking just slightly. He got a warning glance from his father and he stopped, instead letting his legs hang over the end of the bed. 

 

"We'll certainly see what we can do," Bobby laughed. Then he ruffled Dean's hair. "Bonus points, Dean-o if you can notice any extra features about the bed..."

 

"Oh!" Dean's eyes lit up. "Yeah!" He looked over the bed with eager eyes. 

 

It was a solid pine bed, build sturdy and large enough to last the boys into their teens. It had storage built under the bottom bed in the form of pullout drawers with rope handles. "No monsters can fit under the bed!" His moved closer to the bed and his fingers traced over the protective ruins burnt into the wood. "These are like... brussell sprouts to spooks!"

 

Sammy made a gagging noise above him. “Hate brussell sprouts.” He leaned a little further over the edge of the bed, watching as Dean opened up the drawers to peer inside. His eyes went wide at the site inside of them. “Ninja Turtle blankets!” came the cry and then Sammy was leaning way too far over the side.

 

Sammy was tumbling over the side with a loud shriek. Dean grabbed him in the air, keeping Sammy from landing on his head. They landed in a heap on the floor with Sammy landing on top of Dean.

 

Sammy stared down in shock at Dean, his eyes wide and mouth open with no sound coming out. He looked from Dean to Bobby and John, who had managed all but a few steps before Dean had averted the disaster. Suddenly, he was bouncing on Dean’s stomach! “Oh, again! S’like flying!”

 

"That's it!" John bellowed. "Top bunk is off limits to both of you!"

 

“Awww, but daddy…”

 

“Dad, you can’t just go and do that…”

 

“Listen, Johnny, it was just an accident…”

 

John wanted to argue, but the boys where looking at him with those big eyes and Bobby had worked so hard. And he had a feeling that one hour alone on the top bunk and Sammy would be screaming for Dean. "We'll try one night..."

 

There was a rousing chorus of shouts from all corners and John rolled his eyes before walking out of the room. He could hear the boys talking excitedly about the new sheets and pillow cases, could hear them tearing open the plastic on them. Bobby came walking into the kitchen behind him grinning from ear to ear. “If ya think the top bunk is gonna give him trouble I can always put a railing of some sort of up there so he won’t roll off the bed.”

 

"Nah," John sighed. He reached out and tugged at the longish hair at the nape of Bobby's neck. "I think separation anxiety from Dean'll take care of that. You know his little Samson impression is 'cause of you."

 

Bobby laughed and tossed his hair a bit, fluttering his eyelashes. “Imitation’s the best form of flattery, or so I’ve heard. Leave the kid’s hair alone, Johnny. Ain’t gonna hurt a thing for him to keep it longer if he wants it that way. He’ll get tired of it eventually and you can snip it off ‘til your stone cold heart’s content.”

 

"Why does, 'He'll get tired of it,' sound like famous last words? Did you forget that he's a Winchester?"

 

Bobby shrugged and moved over to the cabinet, reaching up to snag a container off the shelf. “Yeah, you’re right. Might as well get use to the shag look on him then.” Bobby pried off the lid and pulled out a couple of cookies. “At least I don’t have to bake these tonight. Good thing I thought ahead earlier today when you left.”

 

John scoffed. “Now that’s cheating.”

 

Biting into the cookie, Bobby rolled his eyes. “Nope, called pre-emptive strike, Johnny-boy. I got you down pat now, my friend. I knew cookies would be brought up at some point today and then I’d be trapped having to make them.” John started to speak but Bobby cut him off. “Don’t even try to say that you’d have done it either. I’m not letting you near the stove again, ever. It took three days to make this place stop smelling of burnt onions.”

 

"Hey, not my fault," John growled and bumped Bobby with his shoulder. "'Sides, why should I bother when I got you all trained up!"

 

Bobby arched an eyebrow and leaned back against the counter. “Oh, so that’s how its gonna be then? If I didn’t cook you and the boys would still be living off fast food. But, if you wanna press the subject I can just stop cooking all those big dinners on Sunday nights with the dumplings, macaroni and cheese, biscuits…”

 

"Oh, hey," John cut him off. "Don't get too drastic now." He leaned in even closer and whispered into Bobby's ear, "You know... I was going to bet a blow job originally instead of bunk bed duty..."

 

“Wouldn’t have mattered, bucko. Ya still lost.” Bobby grinned, taking another bite of his cookie. “Which means I get to choose my reward for winning.”

 

"Oh yeah... and what would that be?"

 

There was a flurry of movement down the hallway and they both turned to watch the impromptu pillow fight between Dean and Sammy. Bobby chuckled at the sight and turned to find John still watching him intently. “Haven’t decided as of yet, but I’ll be sure to let you know exactly what it is I want as soon as I figure it out, Winchester.”

 

John stole the last bit of cookie from Bobby's grip and ate it one bite. "Shakin' in my fuckin' boots, Singer."

 

“Reckon ya should be. Ya realize we’ll be here…all alone…no kids…tomorrow. Which means you can scream as loud as ya want to and no one will hear ya. I’m likin’ that idea a lot at this moment.” Bobby watched as the boys chased each other back into the room. He leaned over then and bit into John’s earlobe. “Been thinkin’ bout gettin’ a new bed in my room, too. One with a wrought iron headboard.”

 

The smirk dropped from John's face. He nervously licked his lips. "That so?"

 

“Yep. Been thinkin’ of tyin’ your ass up for a long time now. Completely helpless to do a thing to stop me. Course, you’ll fight me for a bit but then…god, then the real fun starts. You got a preference for rope or cuffs, Johnny-boy?” Bobby smiled evilly as he walked over the fridge to pull out the milk for the boys’ cookies. 

 

John absently rubbed at his wrists. "Now who's sayin' I wouldn't be the one doing the tying up?"

 

“You lost. That’s why. Don’t try wormin’ your way out of the bet.”

 

"Fine, I'll let you do it, but I won't like it."

 

Bobby snorted as he poured two glasses full of milk and set them on the kitchen table. “Whatever helps ya sleep at night, Johnny-boy.”

 

John leaned back against the counter, trying to hide the growing tent in his jeans. "Can't ever sleep with your snoring."

 

“Ya sleep just fine after you’ve been fucked out. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed either.” Bobby glanced down the hallway again, checking to see if the boys had come back out. When he was satisfied that they were still in their room, he walked over to stand in front of John. He glanced down and then back up. “Looks like someone’s interested ‘bout the headboard idea.”

 

A slight burn of colour rose on John's cheeks. "Boys!" John suddenly bellowed out, his voice only cracking slightly. "I know you're up to some ruckus."

 

Chuckling, Bobby backed away. “Chicken.”

 

"Can't help it if you suddenly have this strange obsession with beds now, Singer."

 

“Ain’t the bed, more like what’s in it,” Bobby instantly wanted to slap himself for letting that one slip out. He didn’t give John a chance to even deem that one with a reply before he called for the boys himself. “Cookies and milk! Come ‘n’ get it!”


End file.
